


Tales of the Material Plane

by FlyawaySoul



Series: Tales of the Material Plane [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adult Themes, Alcohol, Based On a D&D Game, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, D&D, D&D Characters - Freeform, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I think Teratophilia., I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Porn With Plot, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suggestive Themes, Teratophilia?, Tiefling, Tieflings, body acceptance, flyawaysoul, getting there, meeting new people, oblivious female character, past trauma, probably some kinkery, public baths, scar talk, terat themes, terat-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17438774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyawaySoul/pseuds/FlyawaySoul
Summary: Temerity: A demonic tiefling barbarian/warlock meets a strange man who, for what seems like the first time in her life, is neither afraid of her nor wants to kill her. You get some buildup, some backstory, and some smut. Enjoy.





	1. Temerity: First Dates

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the campaign Temerity and Sirlius are in. They are lovers in the campaign and met in roughly the same fashion as shown here, though Temerity was less of a scared little bitch about it. Temerity is a D&D homebrew Tiefling that is supposed to be partially and notably Abyssal/demonic in nature (houseruled) and Sirlius is a normal Tiefling. Temerity is a Barbarian/Pact of the Blade Phoenix Warlock (also a homebrew that can be found on D&D and beyond) and Sirlius is a Fighter/Gunslinger that became an artificer in his work. Tags will be added as they become pertinent.

Months. It had been months since I had been even remotely satisfied in bed.

I was used to dry spells in my sexlife, but by fuck had it been a while. The last man with the stones to take my intimidating form to bed was a gutsy half-orc, a barbarian like myself, but he had been drunk enough to be little more than a snack to my lust. Life is hard when you’re beautiful and terrifying from the waist up and concerning below that.

My body was twisted by birth with my odd amalgamation of ancestors. The oldest of eleven children (no wonder I always seem to have a fire in my belly, must be hereditary), none of my brothers and sisters were as inhuman in appearance. It was to be expected, though. Mom was open about my more than questionable genealogy. She had explained when I was quite young that her family was different from other tieflings.

Rather than a curse or devilish blood, somewhere along the line one of her ancestors took up with - or was forcefully taken up with, as is the case in most such instances - a demon of sorts. Much later I found out who and why my mother and I were so different from others. Graz’zt was my demonic predecessor, though the blood was quite removed by now. Being the eldest daughter of the eldest daughter in a line that was unbroken across many generations, I was still a direct descendant. My mother only held claim to the grey skin that set us apart and double set of crown-like horns. I was much more noticeable.

What caught most people’s eye was the strong wings that sprouted from my back, a wicked thumb talon at their peaks that could equal parts grab and claw. The membranes were a few shades lighter than the dark, graphite color that skin had become. It had been lighter as a child. My bull-like horns jetted menacingly above my head, adorned with golden circlets at the base that matched the hefty septum piercing I had gained by way of some half-fearful jokes from the bandits I used to lead. “That Temerity. Smart as a whip, sly as a fox. You always look at her and see the bull until you find out she’s been the matador all along.” They were right, of course. I was intelligent enough to make it into the wizarding academy near my home, had I not been such a wild child. Alas, it was my path to run away from home and join up with a boisterous group of bandits.

Most notable, however, were my legs. As a child, I was thoroughly ashamed and made fun of for them. They weren’t the typical humanoid legs. They were animalistic in nature from the upper parts of my thighs down to my cloven hooves. A thin layer of black fur or hair like that on a well groomed horse coated them. I could run faster and stand taller than any man, should I draw up to my full height, but I was content to keep myself at a more comfortable gait and stance that lowered the top of my head to an almost even six feet from the ground. My horns rose another eight inches above that and the talon-tips on my wings a bit higher still. Looking taller would only reinforce my monstrous appearance, I knew.

The ones who weren’t immediately repulsed or frightened of me all asked the same questions. “Do you have a normal vagina?” Yes. “Do you have to trim the hair on your legs to keep it from getting shaggy?” No. The hair is like your eyelashes. It grows until it doesn’t. “How do you put on your pants?” Like every other tiefling. One leg at a time and making sure to tie the fastening above my tail tight so my ass doesn’t show. “Do you sit like a dog?” For the love, NO. Always with the stupid questions.

If that didn’t scare them off, the headdress-like mane of long, black spines that replaced the hair on my head would. I began delving into magics a while back and as it turned out, embracing that infernal side my father left me with had some...unforeseen, but not altogether unwelcome consequences. I could redact all but the spines on my head back into my body. When like this, they were imperceivable. In a moment’s notice, I could sprout them anywhere and everywhere along my body, turning my skin into a field of sharp daggers. It made tying me up or holding me down against my will all but impossible, which proved useful more often than anticipated.

Besides, I liked them. Where before my hair was always shaved close to the scalp to keep it from getting caught or pulled in battle, these I could have without fear. I wore them sweeping back from my face, flaring down the back of my neck and shoulders to cover the sensitive base of my wings, and then tapering to a thin line that followed the line of my spine and the apex of my tail to the end of the appendage, where the spines again thickened so that I could flare them out and use my tail as a deadly weapon if needed.

Useful but terrifying. That summed up my appearance to others. It made satisfying my libido more work than being a mercenary. My bandit days were long behind me. I wanted to turn over a new leaf. Do something that would make me feel like letting my mother know I was still alive, which she was most certainly not aware of, wouldn’t break her heart.

Long term goals.

For now, I needed to satisfy my raging sexual appetite, which was more than a challenge as I walked past people who had just become familiar enough with me to not stare the whole time I was in their view. I had left my armor back at the inn I was staying in, the Slinking Dragon. It was a nice enough place, but had no proper bath house, which was irksome. Instead, there was a bathhouse set over a hotsprings on the other side of town.

I couldn’t complain too much. It was a small town and the walk was pleasant. The weather was mild this time of year and even if it were cold, my infernal constitution granted me a certain resistance to the discomfort such weather brought to others.

It was midday now. The baths would be blissfully empty and I looked forward to being able to stretch and soak my wings. I typically made use of the larger mixed gender pool at the bath house. It was from a time when people were more comfortable with their bodies, I was sure, because no one ever seemed to use it now.

My time as a bandit had taken any modesty from me. It might have perhaps been different had the leader not taken such an obsession with me. He brutalized me in nearly every way you could a woman, but I had gotten the last laugh and stole his very throne from him. It wasn’t something I liked to think about, but it had served to make me far more comfortable in my own skin in the end. Every scar and tattoo that adorned me - and there were many of both, all overlapping - was a testament that I was alive. A survivor.

I hated myself for a long time - even after I cleaved him from chin to crotch and tore the screaming head from his body - but that hate bred a kind of confidence over time. I still shuddered at what he did to me, but I learned that to be ashamed of your body did not help to heal the wounds, and besides that, no one in the tribe was overly concerned about their bodies being bare, though they were also mostly men.

It turned my self-doubt into comfort. Why should I be afraid of my own body when much greater evils are afoot? As such, I found that nudity didn’t bother me. Unwanted advances or inappropriate behavior was something I could easily right with my frightening demeanor, but otherwise people stared at me all the time. What difference did clothes really make at that point? Don’t get me wrong, I like clothes. They keep the nether regions clean and not wearing them certainly attracts unwanted attention, but if I happen to be seen naked, it really isn’t a big deal.

My hooves had gently tapped the way to the bathhouse as I remained lost in my thoughts. It smelled of rain on the wind as the breeze picked up, making me thankful I had chosen to go ahead and bathe. I would avoid muddying myself on the walk home like this. The old man at the counter, Theron Broadshield, looked up from a set of puzzle rings I had brought him when I last came two days ago. He was a kind old dwarf and liked little mind games like that one. He had been an adventurer in his glory days and didn’t look at me like a monster or a freak. His wife passed last year and he now kept up this bathhouse alone. He seemed to enjoy my conversations with him and I stopped to do just that.

“Theron,” I greeted with a pointed toothed smile, leaning against the counter he sat behind on a tall and uncomfortable looking stool. “How goes the puzzle solving?”

“Confound it all. Blasted thing’s broken.” He huffed through an impressive beard.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Theron plopped the puzzle down on the counter and pushed it towards me. A challenge.

The object of the puzzle was to slip the ring from one side of the wooden loop to the other. The ring was on a rope too short to loop over any other way, and the ring was too big to go through the wooden loop. It was a tough one, even for me, but I solved it before even buying it, knowing full well that this would happen and he would need convincing.

With deft movements that I partially hid or did too fast for him to see, I solved the puzzle and presented it to him before quickly resetting it and handing it back, “You’ll crack it yet, Theron.” And with a pat on his shoulder, I dropped a few coins onto the desk as he scratched at his head and grunted. As I turned the corner to the women’s dressing room he went to turn as if to say something, but the thick door was already swinging shut and I knew by now that he would let me know on the way out if it were important.

Once in the dressing room, I removed my baggy pants, slipping my long, muscular legs out as I sat on a bench. My shirt, if you could call it that, was little more than a wrap to hold my significant chest steady. It looped over my wing joints and threaded through the spines there; I had to routinely check it for holes or signs of wear because of that. It then crossed over my breasts to make a figure eight that tied at the back of my neck. Typically, it was covered by my armor, but today was an off week for me to rest after my last job and what armor I hadn’t left at the inn was in the shop. That reminded me that I needed to go to the local armorer tomorrow to find a new weapon. Mine had been shattered during my last job.

With a hefty sigh, I ran my hands through the spines all about my head and neck before shaking myself from head to tail aggressively, making a sound not dissimilar to a snake’s sluggish rattle as the spines clacked gently against one another. It felt nice, but this bath was going to be even better. Shunting my neatly folded clothes into a cubby along the wall, I pushed the heavy door that was the twin to the one I had entered through only on the opposite side of the room. Diluted steam met my nose, feeling heavy in my lungs as I drew in a deep breath. I wouldn’t be greeted with the steam proper until I walked through another set of doors; either the one leading to the women’s bath, which held the sound of a few patrons even at this time of day, or the other to the mixed bath, as quiet and undisturbed as usual.

Snatching another towel from a rack of similarly folded cloths, I pushed through the second door to what had all but become my sanctuary. The steam was thick enough here that I didn’t realize he was there at first. Instead I folded my towel into a makeshift pillow and stretched my impressive and battle-marked wings, looking at them in the polished silver mirror before I looked to my body. Scars and tattoos crisscrossed me, glaringly obvious against my dark skin.

My tattoos were totems of my past. Artistic ash-gray spirals, distinguishable from pale scars because of their color, created intricate patterns and shading. Bulls’ heads on my humanoid hips that followed my skin down to where it changed suddenly at my upper thighs to fur. The spirals framed my navel and swirled up under my breasts, hiding runes in the demonic tongue. My mother had taught me Abyssal and my father the fiendish language, Infernal, as a child. Infernal is typical of other tieflings, but Abyssal was more rare. The Common Tongue wasn’t taught to me until much later and it gave my words a harsh clip when I was angry, but otherwise had been taught to me early enough that my accent remained mostly neutral. 

The ashy tattoos continued up my chest to my arms and neck, leaving room for more later, until they climbed up my jaws to the corners of my solid blue eyes like tear stains. A reminder that my past suffering will always be with me, but that it had and continued to make me stronger. I was proud at having survived what many could not, and so I had marked that pride and that suffering on my face for all to see so that it could never be used against me as it once was.

I stretched luxuriously with my arms over my head and my wings brushing each of the distant walls, each nearly ten feet away. My tail lashed and my spines flared and flattened. The sound of a throat clearing startled me into a half battle-ready stance, my hooves parted to shoulder width and my hands flexing out my demonic claws with my flaring spines. The tiefling man in the pool managed to look both nonplussed and bored at the same time, gazing at me with lifted brows and eyes that were between exasperated and questioning.

“I wasn’t expecting company at this time of day. Certainly not in the public bath.” He looked at me as though expecting me to turn tail and flee to the women’s bath. As though I had perhaps mistakenly entered the public bath rather than the gender specified baths. His skin was shades of rich purple and he sat comfortably with one leg crossed over the other on one of the submerged benches at the far wall of the pool from the entrance. His hair was silver, but his features were still somewhat young. I could tell he had some years on me, but probably not many. A cup of what looked and faintly smelled like tea added steam to the room and he held a book in his hands.

“Yes, well,” I rolled my shoulders, flattening my spines back down against my skin and drawing my wings back against me, “neither was I, actually.” I eyed him and he me as I eased into the water. He seemed almost impressed that his presence hadn’t frightened me off and I regarded him equally. Once I was in the water, crouched so that it was up to my shoulders. he snorted once to himself and returned to the book in his hand. This was quite fine with me though he was occupying my normal spot.

The pool was large and quite hot for any but an infernal creature like myself. I was in the habit of heating it further with my fire magics, but I didn’t want to bother him should he not appreciate it. Still, the water was nice and clean. Walking to one side without lifting my shoulders above the water so that I could appreciate the warmth, I extended one of my considerable wings to feel the currented water play against it. The water was nice, especially on my scars, and I hummed pleasantly before repeating the action on the other side of the pool with my other wing. I kept the strange man at my back and, as a pleasant surprise, did not feel his eyes boring into me from his seat.

I couldn’t help but peak at him once I found a seat at almost the opposite of the pool. It was just far enough that I could stretch out my wings and prop them against the round edge of the pool. I was careful to not prop them too close to the strange man as they were broad enough to do so if I wasn't careful. He had thus far remained polite to me and I would happily do the same. Fitting the towel I had folded earlier behind my neck, I reclined and sighed with contentment as my arms rested on my thighs in the pleasant water.

Bathing was one of my favorite things. My mother had been quite staunch in her belief that no matter how inhuman or strange one was, one could and should be solely judged on how clean one kept themself and who they were when left to wait in a long line. As such, I learned to enjoy a good, thorough bath at a young age even though I was still unfond of long lines. Soap bars in little nooks all along the raised edge of the pool all smelled like fresh linen and lavender. The scent permeated the room and made the experience all the more relaxing.

Movement in the water drew my attention and I cracked open an eyelid to see the tiefling across from me change position so that both of his legs were stretched out on the bench in front of him and he was relaxing back along the side of the pool, one elbow propped on the edge next to his tea and holding the book, the other draped across his abdomen. He was just as naked as I, but I had the decency, or moreover _practiced control_ from my banditing days, to not glance curiously at his genitals.

Instead, I glanced at the book in his hand and was quite surprised to see that his brow was furrowed and his nose buried in a book written in my native Abyssal tongue. _Machinations of Abyssal Technology_ it read. Noting my surprised gaze on his book, he tilted it to glance at the cover as though he read many books and needed to check which, exactly, he was leafing through at the moment.

“Ah, yes. It is in a language called-”

“Abyssal.” I finished for him. He looked up at me again.

“You are familiar with this language?” His voice was prim and clipped. He sounded like a nobleman. His eyebrows were an expressive offset to the rest of his face and moved to show delicate, measured surprise.

“It is my first language. My mother taught me as a child.” I said easily in the throaty, husky language that his book was written in. My head still tilted back, I held his gaze and waited to see what kind of reaction he would have. Abyssal was rarely learned by anyone who wasn’t in league with some kind of demonic entity. It was quite rightfully frowned upon and I didn’t usually share that I knew it - especially not with strangers. He, however, had been so utterly unphased thus far that I wanted to see just how laid back this man could be. He seemed interested in earnest now, sitting up a bit and painting the rest of his demeanor with a bit more expression, but looking at nothing but my face. It was a nice change from the typical gawks at the rest of me, clothed or not.

“Really?” He all but growled back in the same language, though the pronunciation was formal in an unpracticed way. He learned this language from a book and did not often get to use it, it seemed.

I hummed in affirmation and drew my tail across my lap comfortably. He glanced down at his book before closing and carefully setting it aside so that it wouldn’t get wet. The moisture in here was bad enough for it and he would surely have to press it between some other tomes to keep the pages from wrinkling terribly. In its place he picked up his cup of tea and regarded me thoughtfully.

“May I ask a question?” He leaned back again as he spoke.

 _Oh for the love. Here it comes. “How do the legs work with the rest of you? Is your vagina normal?”_ I thought to myself. This was not what came, however.

“Your skin. I’ve never seen a tiefling of that color. Does it have something to do with your family knowing Abyssal?” He was still speaking in my native tongue and I responded as such. He seemed happy to have someone to share the language with and, to be honest, as did I.

“Mm.” I confirmed, “Direct descendant of a demonic line on my Mum’s side. Da’s Infernal as any other tiefling, though. I speak that tongue too.” My eyes eased closed again, not concerned that my sizable breasts, each pierced through the nipple with a closed golden ring, were bared to this strange man. He was pointedly uninterested in them - from the sound of him, anyways. Perhaps women weren't to his taste? Oh well.

“That is certainly interesting,” I could hear the eager smile in his voice, “I have never met someone such as that. I wonder if a demonic natured tiefling would always present with grey skin or if it is simply up to chance?” He made minute sounds as he blew gently into his tea and took a sip.

“S’more likely the closer you are to the direct line and it’s a dominant gene for the direct descendants.” My words drawled a bit in the growling language. It took him a moment before he embarrassedly asked me to repeat what I had said. I chuckled. Reading and speaking are two different wars entirely.

“You learned well on your own, but it is quite clear you haven’t had anyone to converse with.” I sat up and resumed looking at him, stretching my legs and repeating what I had said before more clearly.

“I’m sure you know how rare someone who speaks this tongue is,” he shot back, looking ever so slightly disappointed at my summation of his knowledge.

“Don’t take it too hard, kid. You’re doing great,” I smirked as the words left my mouth and he looked at me incredulously.

“ _Kid_?” The word growled with the language.

“You heard me.” I crossed my arms behind my spiked head comfortably and watched him blink slowly at me, recognizing the joke in the foreign language after mentally checking he translated it appropriately. The process showed on his face, proving him to be far more expressive when his attention was commanded.

“I’m at least five years older than you, maybe more,” he clipped, nodding to my being as he said it.

“You have the manners of a kid, though. Asking all these questions of a stranger without even asking her name? Quite rude,” I finished with a word that translated roughly to “Like the nature of a child.” His mouth closed over his retort as he sorted through my words and narrowed his eyes at me in a way that was more interested than upset at being called out on his etiquette breach. He averted his gaze, chuckling and licking his lips in preparation to respond.

His eyes met mine again, “Sirlius. My name is Sirlius and it is nice to meet you, miss…?” Sirlius’s eyes questioned as much as his voice. He expressed much of his emotions with them, making it hard to break eye contact for any period of time.

“Temerity.”

We sat and chatted about here and there, this and that, for quite a while. Sirlius asked about my tattoos and I asked about his profession. As it turned out, he was an artificer and tinkerer. He worked at the local forge to make special weapons for those who had the coin. I was immediately interested and told him to expect me tomorrow, to which he responded that he was actually not expected to be back into work today, tomorrow, or the next day.

Sirlius did, however, invite me to come eat with him at a small pub near where I was staying after I divulged that information to him. I was enjoying the conversation so much that I accepted without thought and only as I walked out of the dressing room to see him standing in well-fitted clothes with a richly embroidered coat under his arm did I realize I certainly needed to at least change my pants, but preferably my top as well. I voiced this to him and he chuckled, still happily speaking in Abyssal. It was fortunate that, in spite of the almost guttural tones of the language, it was not as immediately distinguishable as languages like Elvish or Goblin.

“My dear,” Sirlius said with mirth in his voice, “I’m sure you will be just as eye catching to most of the populace here regardless of what you wear, but I understand that pride in one’s appearance is what it is. Go. I’ll meet you there in, say, an hour?” He held his hand up and near his shoulder area, gesturing with long fingers at the notion as he spoke it, “I need to drop off this book at my home, anyways.” He held it up in his free hand, careful to not drop the coat tucked under his arm as he did. I accepted and with that settled he turned and left, looking far more pleased with himself than necessary.

Theron, sitting there knowingly eyeing first Sirlius and then myself smiled and chuckled. I glanced at him.

“Ah. Tried to tell ya there was company today, but judging by how long you were both in there, I’d say it wasn’t against your liking,” his smiling mouth was masked by his beard, but it reached and crinkled his eyes.

I shrugged my shoulder, the motion exaggerated by my spines and wings, “It was company almost as pleasant as yours, Theron,” I smiled, switching back to Common.

“Saw that,” he huffed, rubbing the side of his nose. “Careful with that one, though.” Theron narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, his gaze forward but seemingly directed at nothing, “He knows more than he lets on ‘bout most things and is more skilled, from what I hear, than he’ll ever admit to ye.” He straightened his back, cracking his aged spine before sliding down from the stool. He was a stocky man, as all dwarves, and stood around five feet tall at my guess.

Retrieving the keys from his belt he strode over to the door, making me realize that we really had been in the bath for a while. It was dark out now and thunder clouds were just visible on the horizon. It would rain in a few hours time if not sooner. I bid him good night and he made an offhand comment that stopped me in my tracks.

“Enjoy yer date.”

Wait. Was that what this was?


	2. Temerity: Rainstorms and Bounties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temerity and Sirlius go out to dinner and Sirlius reveals something that rather shocks Temerity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING:**  
>  This chapter has a reference to past sexual abuse, physical abuse, and violence/assault. I kept it mostly vague, but felt a warning was in order for anyone who may be uncomfortable with such themes.

I had never, in all of my life, been on a date. I wasn’t even sure this was a date. Theron couldn’t understand Abyssal, of that I was sure, but it was still an insidious little thought that he had put into my head. I flew quickly back to the inn, landing at the front door and frightening a few passerbys in my frantic thought. 

_Date? Me? No. Of course not._ Surely Theron was wrong. He had to be. That man, Sirlius. He was so...normal? He was handsome enough, oh yes, but he seemed so very normal. Any who pursued me always seemed to pursue me strictly for sex, for the intrigue of what I hid under my modest but revealing clothes. They wanted to see how far down my scars, tattoos, or both went. They didn’t take me on _dates_.

The image of him leaving the bath came to me. I hadn’t been so intrusive as to set my eyes too thoroughly over Sirlius’s form, but I had seen enough to know he was a strong man. Well proportioned and all lean muscle, broad shoulders and a tapering torso. Pleasing, if anything, to look at, yes. He was about my height if I were relaxed in stance, perhaps a bit shorter. His silver hair, damp with the steam, was slicked back around his curling, ram-like horns. I wanted very much to see what it looked like mussed and tousled.

I pushed the thoughts of him out of my head decidedly, settling on the idea that this was not a date or any other romantic gathering. He was simply accompanying me to dinner so that he could speak with me more. This idea did not stop me from changing into better looking clothes. Embroidered pants made of a stretchy, maroon dyed hide that extended down to my vaulted heels and contrasted the blackness of my furred legs and dark skin. I matched the gold embroidery on the pants with a shimmery golden wrap in a similar fashion to my previous garment, however this one had more fabric and draped in the front more elegantly than the tighter bands I favored. It included a long sash of the same material that I tied about my waist and covered my navel with. The tail of the sash reached just below my knee and shimmered dramatically in any available light when I walked.

Drawing in the spikes on my tail, I adorned myself with a set of two golden rings that sat at the base and near the end of my tail before extending the spikes again. It itched and made my skin crawl to do so, but I was satisfied with the result as I checked my reflection in the glass of the window.

I had nothing else I could do to make my appearance any more appealing so I simply nodded and decided to head to the pub, knowing that this was probably all for naught. Even so, it felt good to dress myself up. I felt more exotic than monstrous when I did, though I preferred my loose pants and tighter wrap. They were more comfortable. I had had too many instances when my various piercings got hung on such loose fabric. 

I descended from the stairs where my room was located over a small bar and eatery for the residents of the inn where they could purchase some basic food and provisions or receive directions for going about the town. My hooves clicked like a woman’s dress shoes as I descended with a giddy feeling in my gut that I did my best to squash. _This is not a date, damnit._ I asserted over myself, but the feeling persisted nonetheless. 

The walk to the pub was both too short and an eternity at the same time. At least twice I asked myself if this outfit looked silly on me, as I had never worn it before, and once I even entertained the idea of feigning sick and just meeting up with him later. I didn’t like this timidity. It wasn’t me. Scowling at myself in exasperation, I felt the scars beneath my tattoos warm. It was a gentle reminder of when they had been first set into my skin - torched there with fire so that they would show over my dark hide. I reminded myself with a great measure of comfort that whether or not this man was expressing interest in me or not was a frivolous thing to be so concerned over. My name had meaning and I had earned it myself. I, Temerity - not I, Timid. 

This thought, burned into my skin, mind, and soul, straightened my stance, gaining me a few inches more than my typical height. Shuffling my wings and shaking out my spines, I proceeded with confidence in my next step. Should they stare, I would give them something magnificent and powerful to gawk at. I would not be cowed by the gaze of those who meant naught to me. With a smirk on my lips and my powdery blue eyes set forward, I strode into the pub with all the authority of a foreign dignitary, ducking to miss the doorframe with my upturned bull horns.

For a moment, the pub was silent and I stood still, drinking in their gazes. _Yes_ , I thought, _Look at me and be robbed of your words. Look unto me and be cowed by my appearance. I am great, I am terrible, I am Temerity and you shall **never** forget me._

My sash and wrap glittered in the variously placed lamps and lanterns, drawing attention to my hips and breasts as I moved with the same easy confidence I invoked on battlefields. My tail whipped lowly as I drew myself up even higher to my full height, something like six and a half feet at the crown of my head, to peer about the pub and look for Sirlius. I found him in a well lit corner, sitting next to a table with his head propped in his hand and elbow propped on the table, much as he had been while reading in the bath. He was reading a different book this time, if the different shade of the cover was to be judged. He hadn’t even seemed to notice the now whispering pub. It made me smile. I could get used to that man’s absolute and total indifference. 

Without hesitation I moved towards him, my imposing figure causing a few to scramble out of the way in confusion. He was wearing a vest I hadn’t seen earlier over the same or a very similar white buttoned shirt. He must have changed as well. It pulled the shirt tight against his body and hinted at his lean-but-strong physique. Sirlius only looked up from his book when I neared. A bored expression decorated his face until he registered me and an almost fox-like sly smile spread across his face, showing a set of fangs as sharp and pointed as mine. He stood and opened his arms fondly as though greeting an old friend.

“Temerity!” Sirlius exclaimed with genuine excitement. The whispering seemed to pause for a moment as everyone took this in. Meanwhile, seemingly impervious to the silence, Sirlius drew a chair out for me and bid me sit. It was surreal. No one had ever pulled a chair out for me unless scared out of their wits or working for me. The pub looked on for a moment and continued cautiously at a louder volume as though his warm acceptance had reassured them. He must have some great deal of respect from these people if they so readily abandoned the hushed whispers after a simple greeting from this man. The talking soon returned to a normal volume. I was intrigued, perhaps even impressed. 

I took my seat and he took his own. The new book he was reading, bound in dark green and seemingly in Elvish this time, was forgotten. I tried in vain to think of a topic of conversation but he beat me to it by starting the conversation himself. 

“You look different. Do something with your hair?” I was at first confused and then scowling at his poor humor. 

“Yes,” my voice was flat in response, though I was admittedly amused, “I sharpened it just a moment ago. How thoughtful of you to notice.” I waved a hand at the orderly garden of spines I wore. Sirlius took my dry humor in stride and instead noted the rings on my tail. 

“I didn’t notice _those_ in the bath,” Sirlius gestured towards the casted gold jewelry. My rings, one and all of them, were expensive casted gold. I had many of them, though some I saved for more formal occasions. Snaking my tail up and curling it around the table’s side so that the smaller band was close enough for him to expect, I carefully flattened the spines.

“I use my tail in combat occasionally. No use in paying to have these made just to have them broken to pieces,” His eyes were on the golden hoop and he nearly made me jump out of my seat when his hand darted casually forward and grabbed my tail just under the ring, pulling and positioning it so that he could better see the it and making the entire appendage flick nervously like a cat. 

Sirlius’s grip was firm and strong, but in no way did it feel as though his intent was to restrain me. He peered into the fine words inscribed on the ring in Abyssal. He spent several long and - for me, at least - awkward seconds squinting at them, deciphering the stylized font before a female server broke his attention by coughing nervously. Even with her attempt at getting our attention, his reaction to her presence certainly wasn’t immediate. 

I had seen her approach and when Sirlius didn’t respond to her measured and polite cough I flicked his nose with my tail. He had drawn it much closer to his face in his pursuit to peer at the artistic scrawl on the ring there. Sirlius was visibly trying in vain to read the hardly recognizable runes. I could see in his face each time he thought he had the right word before discarding it. It was cute. At my pointed flick he sat back, slightly startled but not relinquishing my twitching tail.

“Sirlius. You’re being rude again. To her and to me,” My brows were lifted in an imitation of his unimpressed-but-expecting look from earlier. He met my eyes and I couldn’t help but chuckle as I saw the information dawn on him and he turned to the server, all the picture of gentility and poise. The server girl also seemed to lighten up at the exchange, no longer holding her order pad as though it were a shield between us. 

He ordered for himself and then gestured to me, “And whatever the lady would like, but don’t you dare let her pay for it.” The fox-smile was back and I was undoubtedly impressed now. 

“You send this poor girl to fight your battles now, do you?” I crossed my arms and Sirlius shrugged theatrically in response, my tail still in hand.

“And fight you myself? I am a _gentleman_. I cannot and will not strike a woman,” Sirlius pointed at me with my own tail. His smile stayed and his voice lowered from its usual lilted and proper pitch to match his less serious demeanor. It was a pleasant change, although quite different from the airy tones he used during our time in the bath. He must have felt more at ease now, though I didn’t know what may have changed to make him like this. He didn’t smell of drink or drug, so it was simply to be a mystery. I did like the more graveled tones in his common, though. 

“Fine, then. Your reckoning is stayed, as I also cannot strike a little girl,” my implied but quite obviously joking threat to his masculinity had him lifting the hand with my tail up to cover his eyes with his arm, feigning a wound to the heart with the other. As he pulled my tail, I nearly had to come up out of my seat to facilitate his movement without pulling his hand down over the spines.

“You _wound_ me, madam!” Knowing full well what he was doing with my tail, I whipped it lightly and he released his secure grip. I returned to my normal sitting position, the server hiding an amused smile by biting her lip. 

“I’d show you _wounded_ if we weren’t surrounded by witnesses,” this jab I did in Abyssal, as not to make someone think I was serious. Sirlius surprised me with a wink and responded in Common.

“Who is it that's being rude now?” He gestured to the waiting server. My jaw worked at his audacity, it very nearly matched mine, but my smile never left my lips. I ordered and the waitress left, stopping to speak with her coworkers and flitting looks at us with a friendly smile. He sat back, one leg crossed over the other in a comfortable, almost leisurely slouch that he managed to make look almost majestic, dressed finely as he was. I adopted a similar stance, curling my tail around the feet of my chair so that it wouldn’t get stepped on. 

Our conversation was at the moment lulled as he casually looked me over for perhaps the first time since we met. It wasn’t a heated or questioning look, simply an intake of information. His eyes lingered on my tattoos, no doubt reading the foreign runes inscribed on my skin. I adjusted my posture to afford him an easier look. It was rare that anyone but myself so enjoyed my body art and the interested-but-not-invasive gaze was welcomed. 

When I resettled myself Sirlius flicked his gaze up to my face, seeming to note that I wasn’t squirming under his eyes, but rather giving him a clearer view. He nodded acknowledgement with a smile and focused his eyes again in that way he always seemed to do when he was reading or studying something. His brow furrowed ever so slightly and his eyes just barely narrowed in concentration. There it was again. That look that I could only describe as adorably focused. 

“Are all of your rings inscribed with such runes?” Sirlius asked suddenly. He cut his eyes up to mine, having not forgotten in the least about my tail rings. 

“Yes, though not the same runes,” my answer came quickly. Before I even realized what I was doing, I was removing a thick, golden band from one of my horns. It took a moment for me to wiggle it from its snug position at the base, but it budged under the gentle pressure and thereafter offered no resistance up the rest of my tapering horn. Sirlius took the offer gladly, gazing at the runes that made a magical ward. I was curious to see if he picked up on the magic. 

Gingerly, Sirlius took the ring and turned it in his hand, reading the scrawled runes the best he could. This ring was less artistic in nature because of the magic warded into it through the runes. These two were gifts from my magical Patron as a reward for completing a small favor for him that was outside our regular agreement. Lifting his head from the object in his possession, he ran his hands all over it as though feeling for a texture and a hint of something lit up in his eyes. It seemed he, too, was magically inclined. Interesting. 

“This is magical in nature.” He said suddenly. 

“A rune to protect my horns from breaking off in combat. Regrowing them is a pain and it makes me feel off balanced,” I answered the question that he hadn't asked and extended my hand to take the ring back so that I could return it to my arching horn. Rather than return it, Sirlius gave me a smile. 

“Allow me,” he murmured amicably and offered his free hand in the direction of my horns. Nonplussed, but not against the idea, I crossed my arms on the table and rested my head on them so that my horns were leveled at the tiefling man before me. With ginger hands, he slid the ring to the base of my horn where it belonged. It was an odd sensation. No one had ever handled my horns so gently, myself included. It was nice. 

I looked up at Sirlius from the table where my chin rested on my crossed hands. His hand brushed my horn with a light but still noticeable pressure and he had a peculiar look on his face. Something between vague curiosity and amusement. Lost in thought, his hand lingered for a moment before he remembered himself and looked down to meet my gaze. To my surprise, the until now unphased man flushed slightly, his purple skin turning a shade darker on his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears. Sirlius cleared his throat pointedly and withdrew his hand to cross his arms. 

“My apologies. I have actually never had the experience of coming into contact with another tiefling’s horns. Aside from my own, of course,” he rambled hastily. I appraised him from my still lower position before lifting my head. The memory of how gently he had brushed against me replayed in my mind. 

“If it would be any consolation,” I propped my head languidly in my hand, feigning the unphased movement to perhaps set us both at ease, “no one has ever touched mine without the intent to break them. Aside from myself, of course.” 

Sirlius smiled, relaxed again, “Well, I certainly hope you punished them for such a transgression.” He said this in hushed Abyssal, already becoming more comfortable in the tongue to my surprise.

Responding in kind, I smirked, “Oh, I certainly did.”

We shared pointed-toothed smiles of knowing as though we had made this joke before and continued talking about this and that. Sometimes we spoke in Common, sometimes Abyssal, and a few times we switched to Infernal. I followed his lead in the language changes, comfortable enough in each to let him decide which tongue would correspond to each topic. He allowed me to speak of more possibly questionable themes, such as fighting and the other such mercenary work I did that might frighten some, in the foreign languages. I liked that. It was nice to not have someone look at me with concerned eyes as I excitedly told of my conquests. I only received benignly curious glances from time to time when someone heard the exotic words leaving my mouth.

Talking to him was easy. Natural. Sirlius didn’t press me for stories or tales about myself, but rather accepted what I offered by way of conversation. His questions were direct and to the point and he wasn’t cowed by my exuberance at discussing the gorey details. Instead, he met my excitement head on with his own tales of experiments and tests he had run in the pursuit of crafting new and more deadly weapons. Not all of them were entirely ethical, but neither were the test subjects he selected from the surrounding cities’ jails. He seemed happy to have someone to converse with with no fear of judgement for that. I got the impression that these were the stories he often had to keep to himself, but found the most interesting. I enjoyed them too. 

Soon, the food came out. The server apologizing profusely about the wait in a nervous tone, but I had hardly noticed. Sirlius, too, raised his ever expressive brows in silent communication of his surprise, the rest of his face losing the animated light that he had when deep in discussion. The conversation slowed as we ate and the pub began to slowly empty. Sirlius ordered a wine and poured the two of us a glass once the empty plates were removed. I hadn’t enjoyed a nice glass of wine in some time, so it was a pleasant and appreciated gesture. 

“I must admit,” Sirlius said as he lowered the rim of the glass from his lips, “when I met you in the bath, I took you for a flashy mercenary type. It was a pleasant surprise to find that you are actually quite a bit more than your - forgive the joke - prickly appearance.” 

I snorted into my own glass mid-sip, before licking the wine from my lips and focusing my gaze upon Sirlius, “Yes, well, I didn’t expect the bored man from the bath to turn out to be an accomplished weaponsmith and conversationalist, apparently fluent in several languages.”

“To being people of many talents,” Sirlius’s voice kept its deeper timbre consistently now. He tipped his glass to me and I at him, enjoying the moment. It was comfortable and quiet now, the pub having emptied so that we were one pair of perhaps three or four that remained. 

The tranquility was broken by a clap of thunder, spurring us both to glance at the small windows that the bartender and servers were now hurriedly closing shutters over. Like an overturned bucket, the sky suddenly seemed to fall as rain fell heavily and forcefully to the ground. I recalled earlier when I had predicted such would happen and cursed myself. 

Well,” sighed Sirlius, “I supposed that pleasant bath was for naught, then. My house is farther away from here than the baths are.” He looked at the closed windows as if to glare at the falling water on the other side of the shutters. 

In my eagerness to be polite and amicable, I unthinkingly blurted, “You could wait out the storm with me,” internally, I withered. This man had just met me today. He didn’t know me nor I, him. Hastily, I added, “If you want, that is,” to make sure he knew the offer was a friendly one and that I wouldn’t be hurt if he declined.

Sirlius looked at me for a moment as I kept my face carefully open and still, not wanting my features to hint at my embarrassment. He looked again at the windows as though he could see the rain that now pounded the roof with a vengeance. 

“Would you be terribly put out if I accepted that offer?” Sirlius’s acceptance came as such a surprise that I had to hide my speechlessness behind a sip of wine. Swallowing the wine and my astonishment in one motion, I recalculated my response.

“Of course not! My room is admittedly small, but the place is clean and dry and, most fortunately, close.” I rested the wine glass on the table, still flabbergasted he would accept the offer. The absolute lack of fear Sirlius obviously felt towards me was novel and nearly utterly unique. He reacted to me as he would any strangely dressed or adorned person: mild surprise at first and reciprocated civility after that. 

Sirlius flagged down a server and ordered another bottle of wine to take with us as the last patrons other than ourselves hurriedly left. The first bottle was finished off as he poured the last of it into our glasses, which he immediately downed with a positive sound in his throat. 

“I do love a good red,” he said to his empty glass. I followed suit as the server brought out the bottle.

“On your tab, as usual?” The girl addressed him, to which he nodded. Then, for the first time all night, the girl addressed me, “Thank you for your business and your patience, we enjoyed having you!” She seemed genuine in the complement and I smiled in return, internally incredulous. People did not often go out of their way to address me as such and certainly no one had ever thanked me for my patronage of their business or my patience. It was turning out to be a night full of surprises, and all of them were proving pleasant. 

We moved towards the door, walking side by side as Sirlius tucked the book he had brought with him under his arm protectively, glancing at the rain and back again at the tome while preparing himself for the upcoming onslaught. 

“Allow me,” I said finally, gesturing towards the book. Sirlius glanced at me and then my meager clothing, asking the silent question, _Where are you going to put this that I couldn’t?_ He handed the book to me all the same, waiting to see what I did with it. Shuffling my wings, I did not disappoint him. Careful of the wicked talon on each, I wrapped each wing around myself protectively, creating a bulky but effective cocoon about myself that would shield his book and I. My spines would do to shed most of the water off the exposed portion of my back by decanting the liquid away from my skin. 

Sirlius accepted this action and moved forward to open the door, exposing us both to the torrential downpour. We walked briskly through the rain, shielding ourselves as best we could. I was more successful at this than Sirlius with the help of my wings. By the time we reached the Slinking Dragon Inn, he was drenched and I was laughing at his resulting scowl. 

“Not. A word. Woman,” Sirlius hissed, wiping the water off his face and wringing the water from his hair. His decorative vest was dripping like a laden sponge and I could see his purple skin through the clinging white cloth of his dress shirt. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, _madam_ ,” he grumbled, eyes narrowed playfully and mouth visibly resisting a smile, “You’ll regret it later.” His last words, hissed in Abyssal, made me laugh more at his wet-cat demeanor as I waved him over to the stairs that led to the floor my room was on. People sat in the bar-like area below the rooms for rent, likely sheltering the storm at this late hour, and stared at us as we walked together. Sirlius didn’t seem to mind though so I thought nothing more of it and we walked up the stairs. 

“Is that so?” Facing away as we climbed the last few stairs, I flicked my tail at him playfully. Purposely coming close enough to his face to make him pull away. I didn't - but should have - expected him to snatch my tail again and tug it sharply. The sudden force, light though it was, nearly made me miss the next step and tumble. I was just able to keep my balance on my other foot and keep from completely embarrassing myself. The reflexive action caused me to fluff my spines and flare my wings like humanoid arms. Sirlius chuckled quietly but didn’t relinquish my tail. I couldn’t help the playful growl in my chest. Sirlius chuckled.

“Oh? What was that? Big, bad Temerity can’t take what she gives?” The words were Abyssal and the tone deep and playful. I won’t deny that my thoughts turned to the gutter and my abdomen twisted with the reminder that I had some unmet needs. Nearly responding to his quip in kind, I had to cut off the comment entirely before I said something that would scare him off. 

Instead, I said, “Brave words to say to a demon, little man,” in the dark tones of the foreign language and flashed a fanged smile over my shoulder. Sirlius had that sly look on his face again and it made me laugh heartily, less than pure thoughts pushed away for now. We reached the top of the stairs and Sirlius still hadn’t released my tail. I flicked it as I did earlier, expecting him to let it go. He didn’t and I turned to face him. 

“Sirlius?” 

“Yes, my dear?” I couldn't quite remember when I had become “dear,” but I didn’t mind it. I had heard him call several people that while we spent time together today. He used the word often, but it was a pleasantry.

“I believe you have something of mine,” speaking in common after speaking in Abyssal so often had me carrying over the accent more heavily than normal. Sirlius didn’t seem at all concerned at the harsher tones in my voice. He replied with that vaulted, airy tone he spoke to people in when he was in public. It was odd that the amicable lilting voice didn’t seem to be his natural one.

“Whatever do you mean, madam?” 

“Why do you speak like that?” I blurted in response, tailspinning the conversation to a new topic. Sirlius looked surprised with his eyes and the rest of his face turned neutral. He was thinking. 

“Like what?” His brow furrowed like he was reading a particularly difficult book, but his voice scraped deeper tones. 

“Your voice,” I clarified, “when you talk to people in public, you speak differently. Your voice is a higher pitch and you sound...I don’t know, airy? Nasally?” Sirlius put a finger to his mouth, considering my words. “But then, with me at least, your voice is...different sometimes. When you laugh or speak in Abyssal.” I motioned to him with my hands as though that would at all help him understand what I was trying to say. After a moment, Sirlius chewed his lip and hummed, continuing suddenly to walk down the hall. He genuinely seemed to have forgotten that my tail was in his hand because when I flicked it in response he looked down at it and relinquished it with a mumbled apology. 

I strode ahead and led him wordlessly to the door that my rented key would unlock and opened it into a modest little room, letting him mull over my words. Once we were inside, Sirlius immediately moved to the small table and sat in one of the two chairs as though he had been here several times. Perhaps he had if he had lived here long enough and visited this inn enough. His tail curled over his lap and his arms crossed while he looked at nothing and pondered my words. Finally, he looked at me.

“You are very comfortable for me to be around,” Sirlius started slowly, voice somewhere between the vaulted tones and the more natural sounding low timbre. “You listen, yes. More importantly, you understand or you have me explain it so that you can learn to do so.” His amethyst eyes found mine. “I am aware that I put on a bit of a show around others. Many mistake me for some nonexistent Tiefling aristocracy,” he sat the bottle of wine on the table.

“As did I,” I confided truthfully, sitting down on the bed and pulling my knees to my chest. Sirlius nodded.

“In actuality, my parents were both whores,” he said in what I imagined to be his normal, lower pitched voice and shrugged flippantly. Sirlius was not at all concerned about being judged for his words. Not that I, of all people, would. My parents were humble farmers. “They loved what they did, they loved each other, they loved me and I had a happy childhood. I lost them both as a young man, so I left there and traveled around.” He sat back in his chair and flicked his tail absentmindedly. “I believe I got this,” he paused to choose the correct term, “ showman’s flair? Facade? Theatrical demeanor?” He shook his head, dismissing the terminology as unimportant, “I got it from them. They were very good at getting people to like them for the show they put on and it made their lives easier. They were able to be themselves around each other and I feel like I can do that with you. You don’t carry a facade like that. Your emotions are plain to see, people get what they see with you and you expect the same from them. Its refreshing amongst the politics of the world to see someone be so unapologetically themself.”

I looked him over for a long moment, letting his words and his tone sink in. My tail curled over my ankles, as I had purposely left my muddy hooves off the bed so that I would preserve the pristineness of my sleeping area. My eyes fell to them and I curled the flexible, claw-like protrusions that made the bottom of each of my feet. They weren’t quite like any animal I had ever seen and I had control over them more reminiscent of strong toes than just rigid hooves. 

“For a long time,” I paused to pick out the right words to say, “I hated who I was. I always attracted unwanted attention and was hurt or ridiculed for it. I blamed the way I looked and I was right to do so, but I did it in a way that was...bad. Unhelpful. The things I faced made me strong, but they also made me hate myself for a very long time. It was hard,” I swallowed a ball of negative emotions that I felt rise in my throat like vomit. Sirlius said nothing as I calmed myself, but my voice still came out thickly, “I ran away from home and joined a bandit tribe. I was happy for a while. They didn’t give a damn what I looked like as long as I could swing an axe. It was perfect until the leader, that shit of a man, took an-” I had to stop and bite my tongue. This time in my life was hard to talk about. Sirlius tilted his head, drawing my eyes back to him as he looked at me with silent, friendly concern. I smiled weakly back and let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. 

“He took an...unrequited interest in me, which he pursued diligently at my own suffering. Many of the scars I have are from him and I can say without doubt that I hate him more than anything in any plane of existence and more. He damaged physically beyond any repair because he thought I was some exotic toy that he could do as he pleased with. He was stronger than me, but I was smarter than him and that was the death of him,” I smiled bitterly. “I fucked, promised, bribed, and threatened my way into having support from the rest of the tribe. They didn’t like him much, but he kept them fed and clothed, so he had their loyalty. If I had challenged him outright without doing that, they’d have torn me apart at his command,” my back started to ache at having been supporting the weight of my wings all day, so I sat back and stretched my long legs. 

“He was stronger, but I was smarter. I fought dirtier than he could ever fathom to do and I gutted him like the pig he was,” pride, made fierce by the burning rage I felt, overtook me. My totem tattoos glowed gently in the dark room and rain beat against the window. “I ripped his head from his body and left it on a pike outside my tent until the crows and the maggots took him and turned him to shit.” Sirlius gave a small huff of agreement. 

“As you should have,” Abyssal made his words low, forceful, and fierce. It was reassuring to hear in a way I couldn’t describe with words. Just to have someone believe I was justified and agree with what I inflicted upon that man was more than I could ask for. 

“And from then on out,” I sighed, “I led them across the countryside. Pillaging, killing, murdering in cold blood and looting the wreckage,” My eyes found his. I needed to see what he thought of this part of me. I needed to know if he realized that what he saw truly was what he got with me. I was a demon after all. Through and though.

“Temerity,” Sirlius started, hints of nervousness in his voice. I knew then that I had finally done it. I had finally scared him away. “Temerity, I have to admit something to you, before we continue this conversation, evening, whatever.” He gestured nervously with his hand while I replayed the part of his words where he implied that our evening would continue. 

“I know exactly who you are.”

My mind went white. Not because of a blow to the head or a spell, as had happened to me before, though it certainly felt like it. I was simply so taken off guard that thoughts were beyond me. When I did retrieve the ability to think from deep within me, my mind raced. _He can’t have found out more than I told him._ My mind shuttered at the thought. It was easy to gloss over the atrocities I had committed, the peopl I had cut down like animals as I thoughtlessly ran from the atrocities that had been done to me and in turn became no better. I was angry and hurt and trying so desperately to just be anything or anyone else at the time. If that thing I was able to become couldn’t think, it was all the more desirable for me at the time. It was a horrible mistake that had haunted me mercilessly since. 

“I’ve read your formal charges and seen your wanted posters. I’ve talked to survivors of your tribe and the ones you raided.”

 _No, no, no, no._ I wanted very much to cry, but all I could do was gawk wide eyed as Sirlius held my gaze.

“They called you _The Balor_ and _The Bull_. They never found out your true name, which is why you can still use it.” The hate I felt for myself at what I had done under the selfish idea that the world should be destroyed so that it could be made anew washed over me like a wave of shit. I could not defend myself. I couldn’t argue with what they called me because at the time I took pride in it. I loved the fear and the way people whispered when they saw me. I was an out of control monster. A demon in every sense of the word. _As within, so without, through and through._

“I learned about you after you came to this town. You see, I get descriptions of all the major criminals because I work so closely with the royal military, not just the town guards. I was curious about why you were alone, but you hadn’t done anything to warrant me ousting you so I didn’t,” Sirlius crossed one leg over the other nonchalantly, acting as though he wasn't in the room of a fugitive with a bounty recognized by the entire neighboring country. 

“From time to time, I saw you around this little city - this tiny, inconspicuous town in the middle of bandit and monster country. You didn’t hurt anyone, you kept to yourself, you took up jobs for ridding the countryside of those bandits and monsters. While no one in town or _especially_ the guard will admit it, you have made this place immensely safer with your presence after only a mere six months.” Sirlius smiled gently, “You have made getting more research subjects from the local jails and prisons quite difficult for me, you know. Every bandit in miles has come to avoid this town like a plague ship. After the second or third of your tavern brawls with accused thieves, no one has had the stones to take so much as a coin that isn’t theirs. It seems that being under the protection of a Balor has its upsides for a town like this.”

And I continued gawking at him. My words were glue in my throat and my thoughts were useless stones in my head. _He knows_ , circled around and around in my mind, not as a thought but as an emotion. It was followed and openly opposed with, _He doesn’t fear me?_ The two emotions neutralized one another and I was left utterly dumbstruck, though I did manage to pick my jaw up off the floor and close my gaping mouth. Sirlius cleared his throat.

“My admission,” He said slowly in his natural voice, a deep honey and velvet, “is not that I know who you are, but that I purposely placed myself in your path today. I needed to see for myself who the ‘monstrous woman’ the townsfolk were so nervous-but-thankful-for was. I expected many things. A flashy mercenary, a gruff barbarian, even perhaps someone who relied solely on their appearance to speak for them. I was not expecting a strange, well travelled woman who was fluent in multiple exotic languages, proficient in many abstract forms of fighting, a conversationalist with a Nine Hells-begotten _good_ sense of humor, or, perhaps least of all, one so accepting and attentive of another’s words,” by now, Sirlius was opening the small wooden box on the table that held simple dishes and cups. He closed it, looking almost offended and grumbled about how there were no wine glasses to be found. With an exasperated chuff, he returned his gaze to me. 

“I enjoyed myself far more this afternoon than I have with anyone, man or woman, in a very long time. I say this all not as a threat to reveal you or as some power play, but to put you at ease.” Sirlius slid his tail off his lap and stood up, stretching as he did. “I have no intentions of making you hostile to me unless you do so to me first and I certainly do not think that, as you are now, you are a threat to anyone in this town that follows the law.” Sirlius approached me and waved a hand in front of my face slowly.

“Temerity, dear? You still in there?”

I swallowed hard and shook myself in disbelief. My tail began jerking back and forth nervously like that of a cat. As per his normal behavior, Sirlius stooped down, snatched it and then sat beside me.

“I’ve never been around tieflings that weren’t my parents, you know. Not this amicably, of course,” Sirlius ran his thumb along the side of my squirming tail. It tickled. “It’s fascinating and admittedly fun to play with your tail, you know? I hope I’m not bothering you with that.”

Making menial conversation. Like none of what he just said meant anything. Like it was just something to disregard once spoken like any other part of a conversation. I finally found my voice, but it took a couple tries for me to use it. Clearing my throat, I finally managed recognizable words. 

“I think I need something stronger than wine, if that would be okay with you.”

Sirlius gave me a devilish smile.

“What do you have in mind?”


	3. Temerity: Wyvern Water Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temerity and Sirlius recover from their previous truth sessions with some particularly strong alcohol. Both Sirlius and Temerity make their intentions known in regards to the night and it has a rather ambiguous end for Temerity. _"A deal with the devil is a deal with me and I **do not** disappoint." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently I left off about a page or two from this when I first posted it (fuckin _**whoops**_ ). It's there now, though.

Sirlius went down to the small bar below to get wine glasses, leaving me to mull over my thoughts. They were cumbersome and rolled in my stomach as much as my head. Before he left, Sirlius had mentioned a special flask of something that he had tucked away. He left it with me and I turned it over in my hands in tune with the rolling in my mind. 

_He knows. He knew all along. He knew and he didn’t say a word to me until now._ It scared me a lot. If he had told anyone else, I’d have been carted off with my wings and legs broken just so that I couldn’t escape. They would have done their damnedest to end me. Though I could rely on my Patron to protect me to a degree, he was not all-powerful by any measure. 

It was a frightening thing to think about. At any point, he could have me caged like an animal and destroyed. He could have threatened me, blackmailed me, anything. It would have worked too. I had remained in this small town on the border of Baulder and the Clockwork Kingdom because the two hated one another so much that they rarely sent over any information on their wanted criminals. Baulder must have considered me far more of a threat than I thought if they had leaked information of my existence to their rivals to the east. Either that or Sirlius was far more connected than I had ever even _thought_ to expect. 

Theron’s words ran through my mind again and I realized that he, too, probably knew who I was. That or he knew that Sirlius knew, if not both. He was right about Sirlius, though. _He knows far more than he lets on._

Speak of the devil, Sirlius gave a tap at the door before opening it. In he walked with two wine glasses hanging from their bases in one hand under a couple of small shot glasses and a plate of cheeses and breads in the other. He held a bag of something in his teeth and I saw that he had only been able to open the door because his tail was free to do so. 

Kicking the door shut, Sirlius walked to the table to set the plate, glasses, and mysterious bag down. I eyed him cautiously as he did, still unsure of what to do with this new information. Thunder boomed overhead and Sirlius took note of my expression and calmed the wide smile on his face.

“Temerity, dear?” He asked cautiously, but while walking closer without fear or concern. 

_But he knows._ Was all I could think. I didn’t understand how he could know and still look at me like a person - like he wasn’t afraid. I couldn’t decide if he was crazy, stupid, or more dangerous than I had originally anticipated. He sat next to me, moving slowly as though _he_ was going to spook _me_. 

“Temerity,” Sirlius said in a firmer voice. I stared at him stupidly. “For the love, woman. You are a wanted fugitive in two countries and have brought lower gods to their knees. What are you so _afraid_ of, woman?” 

_Oh. He knows about that too._

Sirlius leaned back and ran a hand over his face, “It wasn’t my intention to scare you with what I knew, Temerity. I decided to tell you now rather than later so you didn’t think poorly of me. I tried to think of a good way to say it over dinner, but the opportunity never came. You brought it up when we got here and I knew I wouldn’t get another chance like that. Also,” he looked at me sheepishly, an expression I didn’t expect on the man I had been naked with just hours before, “you seemed...worried that I would judge you for something. When you were trying to tell me about yourself, that is,” Sirlius hastily added and crossed his arms. He looked ahead seriously, though I wasn't sure at what he was directing his gaze at, “I understand what it is to want to remake yourself. You have nothing to fear from me, Temerity,” he finished. I took a long, deep breath, filling my lungs to the brim. 

When I finally let out the breath, it came out as a term roughly meaning, “Well fuck this,” in Abyssal. Sirlius chuckled lightly after a moment to comprehend the word. It gave me time to think through my response. It took a few slow seconds but I was finally able to look him in the eye and manufacture words from my mental whirlpool. 

“Where’s the alcohol?” 

Sirlius gave a small smile and retrieved the wine, the glasses, and a sliver of my normal nature. He took the liberty of pouring the glasses and I drank my first one greedily, hardly taking the time to note that this wine was not red like the one at dinner, but pink and sweet. He lifted a brow and poured me another before even beginning to nurse his own glass. Before I could down my second glass just as quickly, Sirlius raised a hand to beckon me to stop. 

“Maybe try the stronger alcohol before you race through the wine, dear?” He retrieved the silver flask from the bed where it had fallen from my hand at some point. After a brief second of thought, he also retrieved my hand and pulled me up from my spot on the bed. I stood willingly, still holding my wine glass and just barely refraining from gulping it down. 

Sirlius relinquished my hand and moved to stand next to the table where he then began setting up an admittedly tasty looking spread of cheeses, breads, and a pile of delectable looking berries that must have come from the bag he had brought in earlier. I joined him after a moment to gather myself and placed my wine glass next to his untouched. 

Choosing to ignore my anxious thoughts, I instead busied myself with watching his hands set up something that was as much at home in a painting as it was on a table about to be eaten. Sirlius had long, slender fingers that made me wonder how he had the strength to forge things like weapons. His fingers didn’t look like those of a weapon crafter, but more of something like a clockmaker or a jeweler - dexterous and exact. 

Sirlius reached for the glasses, his sleeve pulling up with the motion and showing some of his lower arm. The movement exposed some small, long scars. They criss-crossed here and there, making a subtle roadmap on his skin. More as a reflex than anything, I gripped his wrist and bent for a closer look. He didn’t pull away. When I realized what I was doing, I mentally shrugged figured it was a just payback for all the times he had nonchalantly snatched up my tail. He certainly seemed unperturbed by my actions. 

The scars were so thin and smooth that I could only assume they had been magically healed. I couldn’t help but to inquire if he himself could use magic. Sirlius chuckled and unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt, tugging the sleeve up his arm to show a collection of almost imperceivable little scars. It made his skin look like a fine, artistically cracked purple porcelain. 

“Scars from the forge can get a bit nasty. I have an assistant that knows some basic healing spells. I, myself, am mostly void of the art save for a few tricks I’ve picked up to help me know what things do. It proves helpful to avoid mishaps when altering magical equipment.” Sirlius patiently waited until I had sated my curiosity and released his arm. Once I released it, he paused for a moment before unbuttoning his other cuff and rolling them up to his elbows. He continued to set up the food before finally pouring two shots from the rather large, ornate flask. 

I tugged a chair over and carefully sat so that my tail was curled over my leg in such a fashion that I wasn’t uncomfortably sitting on it. Sirlius finished his arranging and tugged the other chair forward to sit in it in much the same fashion. He handed the small clear glass to me and raised his own as the notion of a toast. I raised mine as well and said “to us” in Abyssal before downing my shot along with him. 

The liquid from the glass was smooth as silk but burned like hellfire until it hit my gut and began to warm my whole body pleasantly. The liquid had little scent, so I wasn’t expecting that heady blaze and very nearly coughed following the drink. Luckily, I was able to mask the cough with the far less embarrassing act of clearing my throat. Sirlius gave a small wince of his own before exhaling heartily. 

“Excellent,” I said, looking at the glass in awe. “What _is_ this?” 

“‘Wyvern Water’ is what they call it. It’s a Tiefling brew from Castanica on the southern coast. Apparently there are some wyvern tamers there that found a way to counteract wyvern venom and then ferment it into this. Don’t ask me how, but it is absolutely wonderful after a long week,” he chuckled. The Wyvern Water was spreading from my stomach to the rest of me, seeding pleasant warmth through my veins and relaxing the taunt muscles of my body. 

“Sirlius,” I began, “forget 'hard week.' It has been a hard _life_. Fill me up,” and I pushed my empty glass to him. Sirlius laughed in full now. It was a nice, jovial sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He poured another shot into first my glass and then his, before popping a red colored berry into his mouth. 

I threw the shot back again and was very suddenly enjoying the pleasant buzzing brought on by the alcohol. Sirlius followed suit soon after eating the berry and shook his head a bit after. Because I had no intentions of being out-drank by this man - my pride as a barbarian tribe member would be ruined - I quickly grabbed a few mouthfuls of bread and cheeses so that there was some more food in my belly to help knock the edge off of the alcohol. Sirlius, having ever the keen eye, saw this and shook his head with a smile. 

“I only have three shots of this at a time at most. That’s only if I don’t want to remember the night in the morning,” he pushed his glass away, “two is fine for me tonight. I’d still like to enjoy the wine.” My own wine glass, full and forgotten, sat next to me on the table. I regarded it for a moment, but still wanted desperately to see how much of that Wyvern Water I could stomach. 

_One more,_ I thought, _one more shot won’t hurt that bad._ Sirlius raised a brow mirthfully as I poured myself another shot from the flask as he nursed a glass of wine. I tossed the clear liquor down my throat and was soon hit with the wave of the giddy dizziness that accompanies intoxication. _This shit is strong,_ I thought to myself. Or I thought I had until Sirlius answered me.

“It is indeed, but by the Nine Hells it is good,” he had a drunken flush to his cheeks, but calmly continued to nibble at the berries, breads, and cheeses he had brought, occasionally sipping at the sweet pink wine. I regarded him for a long second, noting his rather attractive features in earnest, and the fire of the alcohol in my belly turned into a different kind of fire that seemed to fed hungrily on the Wyvern Water. 

Propping my head in my hand I drawled, “Sirlius,” in a heavy accent before continuing in an almost-slurred Abyssal, “You’re an attractive man. Know that?” I knew I wasn’t good and properly drunk just yet, but I would be soon and it would be better to clear this up while I still had control over my tongue and would remember the conversation tomorrow. 

Sirlius giggled into his wine, betraying his own inebriation, “Yes, darling, I am aware. Why?” Why indeed? Why had I mentioned that? Oh well, it didn’t matter. He knew already. That’s good. People need to know they’re attractive. Its a nice thing to hear. 

“Theron at the hot springs said this was a date,” I blurted as more of a statement than a question. Sirlius stilled a moment and put down his glass. 

“And how would he know that?” He asked. 

“I dunno, but it made me nervous, I won’t lie,” I took a sip from my own glass of wine and tipped it at him, “if this was a date, it's the only one I’ve ever been on, you know.” Had I been sober, I probably would have kept that to myself. As such, I was just cognizant enough to know that I regretted saying that aloud. Regardless of my regretful dialogue, Sirlius’s eyes caught mine and he peered at me for a moment, almost searching for something. 

“I won’t lie to you, and please do not regard this as an insult because that is not my intent, but your comfort with your own body didn’t incline me to think you were a particularly celibate woman.”

“Oh, Hells no!” I had nearly choked on a berry when he said it, “I’ve fucked my fair share of times, just never been on a date.” Tears streamed down my cheeks as I laughed the words out. I didn’t know why the thought that he equated dating to sex was so hilarious to me, but it was nonetheless and nearly choked me with the laughter. I could feel my grasp on intelligence slipping away beneath the booze. 

Sirlius busied himself with placing a slice of cheese on some bread, seeming to focus on it very intently. His movements were measured and careful, but he still wasn’t as lithe as he had been earlier. My thoughts strayed momentarily to the idea of those long, delicate fingers and how they’d feel on my skin, but I soon banished the thought from my mind. Even in this state, I was sure that I’d make a fool of myself if I pursued it. 

“You didn’t know if this was a date or not when you agreed to come to dinner with me?” Sirius’s tone was rather serious and caught my drunken attention. 

I shook my head and shrugged, “Had no idea either way, but I liked talking to you, so I agreed. Whether or not it’s a date doesn’t really change that, ya know?” I was beginning to sound intoxicated, even to myself. 

“Which would you have preferred it been?” Sirlius took a bite of the cheese-on-bread he had and tried to look relaxed, but he still seemed tense to me. I could see it in his shoulders. At first his words didn’t completely register and I had to run them through my mind again to understand the question. Under normal circumstances, I would probably have given a neutral response and left it up to him to tell me what tonight was, but I was drunk and bold and stupid.

“I wanted it to be a date, but I didn’t think it was. You’re a normal, attractive man with a good head on his shoulders. You don’t pursue demons like me,” and I laughed at what I suppose I thought was a funny joke, even though the words were pulled straight from my sober thoughts and not at all funny to me otherwise. Sirlius snapped his head towards me, blinking drunkenly for a moment after he did it. Once he recovered from the fast movement he bore his eyes into me. 

“You’re wrong,” he leaned back into the chair, making it give a small creaking noise. “You are precisely what I was looking for, even if I wasn’t expecting you to be when we met,” he paused for a moment, looking almost disappointed, “and by the way, that was, to me at least, a date.” I choked on my sip of wine.

Coughing, sputtering, and mentally flailing, I stared at the devilish man before me. He looked serious. “But... why?” with a broad motion to myself was all that I could manage in response. Sirlius regarded me and collected his thoughts. Unlike my own inebriation, his showed in his movements more than his words. 

“In all honesty, Temerity darling, I am not a normal man. I have my own vices and rough spots, just like yourself. I have a dogged curiosity and am willing to do what’s needed to sate it, just as I did today in meeting you.” He stopped when I leaned forward very quickly in my drunken haze and peered at him through heavy lidded eyes. 

“Vices?” I interrupted girlishly, “Do share.”

Sirlius smirked playfully in a way that made me very much want to bite his lips before stretching luxuriously. “Suffice it to say, my vices are highly inappropriate for conversing on a date.” 

“So I shouldn’t talk about mine, then?” And I flicked my tail pointedly. He had been so focused on it all night, I could only assume he enjoyed looking at it. His eyes flicked to the twitching appendage and lingered for a moment before returning to mine. Later I might recall this as the moment I knew for sure the alcohol had taken my good sense, what with me talking like this to someone who I had only known a few hours and had only treated me with polite civility, indicating in no way he was sexually interested in me other than admitting that the gathering was intended to be a date. I was warm and buzzing inside and my mind was a bit too far gone to reign in my namesake at the moment.

Regardless, he took it well, “I will not stop you from discussing your vices,” he began eying my tail again as though the movement fascinated him, “but remember that you are intoxicated and might have wanted to keep some of this to yourself if you were sober, you know-” 

And then I partially stood, hand on the table for both balance and support against my wobbly, drunken legs, and kissed him. 

Oh gods I didn’t know what had gotten into me, but the feel of his surprised lips on mine was a splash of water to the damned. He hesitated for no more than a second before grabbing my thighs to pull me closer until I was straddling him. Once in place, his hands migrated up to my flared hips and tugged me down into his lap without ever breaking the kiss. I finally got to bite that smirking lip of his and he growled in a way that made the small spines along my back and the ridge of my tail raise in excitement. 

I wasn’t sure how, but he certainly noticed this and slid his hand from my hip to my side to my back and then down to the base of my tail. His hands were cool against my infernally hot skin and I could feel his fingers trail down my tail in a sensual way. No one had ever done that before and it felt _wonderful_. Sirlius’s other hand carefully traversed the spines along my back until his hand pressed into the back of my neck, pulling me further into the kiss. 

My large, dark wings shuffled, nearly knocking over the table and sloshing the wine as I instinctively tried to cocoon him against me. Forsaking the stroking of my tail, he returned his hand to my thigh and grabbed tightly, shuffling me a bit before slowly, almost hesitantly, breaking the kiss. Breathless and panting, we both just stared at each other, trying to ignore the suddenness of the situation and the equally sudden shifting in his pants. 

Sirlius’s grip on my thigh didn’t loosen and his look wasn’t an upset one, but my actions had sobered me a bit and took me aback. I was waiting for him to ask me to move, but he didn’t and his hand never moved from my thigh, nor his other from where it was entangled in my spines. 

“Temerity, darling,” he started, “you are drunk.” 

“I’m aware.” My head tilted toward his ever so slightly, yearning to pick that kiss up where we’d left off. The movement earned a sudden and firm grip on the fist full of spines at the nape of my neck. It tugged at my scalp like my hair once did and it made me close my eyes in a drunk, pleasant daze as I relaxed my neck and gave him free control over the area. I had always liked having my hair pulled like that once upon a time. Apparently the effect still worked with spines. Sirlius cleared his throat. 

“We shouldn’t do this while drunk. You might regret it in the morning.” I opened my eyes and he was gazing up at me through thick silver lashes that stood out against his purple skin and irises. My eyes had no such iris and were instead all a powdery light blue. I wondered if he could tell just how enamored with his amethyst eyes I was? A dark blush tinted his cheeks, either from the kiss or the alcohol, and he still clutched my thigh in a grip that in no way hinted that he wanted or even would let me move. I smiled a fanged grin down at him.

“Sirlius, I have regretted many things. Drunk, sober, it doesn’t matter. Bedding you is not something I think I will regret.” And I rolled my hips against his, knowing full well he had moved me earlier in order to resist the temptation himself. Despite his hand on my hip, his surprise kept him from stopping me until I was pressed well against him. He held me there and took a deep breath. 

“Temerity. You could get pregnant if we do this before you get a runestone or something to protect y-”

“I can’t,” I interrupted in clipped tones, tracing one of my largest scars. Half a handbreadth wide, it crossed from the bottom tip of my ribcage on the left of my body to my right hip, “I haven’t been able to bear children since I was little more than a child myself. If I had been able, it would have happened long before now.” I pulled my head slowly down to level my lips with his, not quite touching them just yet, “It is a painful memory and I would like to not discuss it now.” My speech was heavily accented in Abyssal and he responded in kind with less accent in his tones.

“Don’t start what you may not be able to finish, darling. I am no more a normal man than you are a normal woman. _Especially_ when being bedded by a dark, beautiful thing like yourself.” Sirlius’s eyes were hooded and his tone that low, smooth one he had so far only shared when no one else seemed to be able hear us. It had taken a more gravely rasp now and rumbled against me. His hand moved around from clutching my hip to cupping the area just under my ass, his fingers brushing parts of me that were warm and wanting. It was his lips, though. Those damn mischievous lips that he held in that damn daring smirk of his. 

Sirlius’s hand tightened in my spines again and I instinctually gave him control of my head, which he carefully moved to the side so that he could trace his lips ever so gently from my jaw to my clavicle. I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“What’s so funny, Temerity?” My name rolled off his tongue like warm honey and I smiled lazily down at him.

“You talk like what you’re saying is a threat. Like it isn’t a threat I want you to swear on your life to come through on.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Sirlius chuckled darkly, the movement serving as an unnecessary but welcomed reminder of our position, “ _a deal with the devil is a deal with me, darling, and I **do not** disappoint,_” and he lazily bit my collarbone in a way that had me sinking my claw-like nails into his back and humming pleasantly. Not stopping there, he sucked and nibbled at the spot until I was sure a hickey would be present, even against my dark graphite skin. 

“I’ll get you back for that, _darling_ ,” I murmured, glancing down from where he had angled my face. Sirlius peeked up and me and smiled around the bit of flesh he was nibbling at, relinquishing it only to pull me back into a kiss. 

In lieu of the sudden turn of events, I was rather alert to be as drunk as I was, but I could feel the alcohol pulling at my mind in a pleasant, fuzzy way. I didn’t think I would black out, but I now understood what Sirlius had warned about before and regretted that third shot nonetheless. Drunk sex wasn’t my favorite thing, but I was hoping that drunk sex with Sirlius would be at least adequate. It was off to a good start, at the very least. 

Sirlius was a very good, solid kisser. His lips and his body were firm but he was aware of my movements and adjusted himself accordingly. He didn’t relinquish control of the kiss itself, but I didn’t mind it for now. It was pleasant to have such a responsive lover and I made a point to reward him as much as I could when he responded in particularly pleasant ways. In the current position I was limited in this regard, but it didn’t stop me. I began rolling my hips in time with the kiss, enjoying the friction but mostly wanting to encourage the way that he was nipping from time to time at my bottom lip in a promising way. 

He seemed to enjoy the ministrations and hummed lowly against my tongue, moving those long, slim fingers against my back in a gentle swirls that contradicted the kiss well. My hands mussed his normally tidy hair, pulling it between my fingers and fulfilling the urge from earlier to see it in a mess. I wanted to see all of him as a mess. The though fueled my actions, urging me to be more aggressive. Sirlius was not opposed to this in the slightest. I massaged at his shoulders, just enjoying the feeling of his skin under my fingers before slipping my hands around to unbutton the collar of his shirt. It was still damp and the fabric was stiff. Once undone, I raked my sharp nails over the skin of his throat, neck, shoulders and chest, being only gentle enough to not break skin. Sirlius moaned and dug his own fingers into my thigh, kissing back hungrily. Before long, I trailed my hands down to the vest that hugged his shirt to his body and suddenly liked it a lot less than I had a few hours ago. It was in the way and the buttons were tiny and difficult to remove due to its decorative nature and the fact that it too was still wet from the rain. Electing to allow him to continue to maintain majority control over kissing while I pulled at the buttons was a mistake. Quickly growing exasperated with the stupid buttons, I weighed the option of just ripping it away, but I didn’t want to damage his things. Instead, I forsook the shirt all together and began unbuttoning the far easier article of clothing that was his pants. I didn't _need_ his shirt off, but the pants needed to get lost before I could satisfy the aching hunger deep in my core.

Less distracted now, I also began taking back some control in the turn of events. More and more my mouth clashed against his and I became more and more demanding with my movements. Just as I was about to free the last restraint in his pants and move to the one above his tail, his hand left my spines and pulled mine away from his clothing. I broke off the kiss and narrowed my eyes at him, waiting for an explanation with all the patience of a child.

Breathless and wanting, we sat for a moment before Sirlius grabbed my face gently in his hands. The sudden tenderness very nearly startled me into getting up. “Temerity,” he said in that low, pleasant voice, “I am not going to have sex with you while we are drunk.” He was firm and his grip gentle but solid. Even in the state I was in, I knew better than to try to push him into sex. It was wrong. I knew that. 

Sighing, I sat back in his lap and pulled my face from his hands. Wanting to be sure that Sirlius didn’t mistake my actions as any kind of rejection, I smiled gently at him and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Sirlius ducked up to catch my lips in a chaste kiss and held me where I was when I moved to get up, earning him a questioning look. 

“Temerity, darling, I said I wasn’t going to _bed_ you tonight. I didn’t say I wasn’t going to touch you.” Sirlius’s tone held significant promise, even through the alcohol and the thundering rain outside. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought about how awful it was going to be to walk around the flooded streets tomorrow and cursed my inability to wear shoes. It was a good night.


End file.
